Iron Fic - I Love The Nightlife
by The Chairman
Summary: Contestants had 24 hours to write 1500 words using Alicia Bridges's chart-topping 1978 classic as the secret ingredient
1. Don't Talk About Love Tonight

Don't Talk About Love Tonight

"Women all over town? Is that what she said?" Harry was trying to be sympathetic, but was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Fortunately, Ron was not looking at him, but had his eyes fixed on the beer bottle held between his hands. He took a swig from it before he answered.

"Yep. What does that even mean? Okay, I kissed Verity, but I was drunk and so was she, and Hermione was there, for Merlin's sake. And Hannah was nothing more than a peck on the cheek…"

"… or Neville would have Nagini'd you," Harry put in, unable to resist a grin now. "What about Lavender?"

Ron groaned and leaned back, a hand over his eyes. "Can't we forget Lavender?" he said pleadingly. "She was my first girlfriend, and I hadn't seen her for ages and Hermione was out of town…"

"Or so you thought, until she walked in on you snogging," said Harry. He swigged his own beer, openly laughing now.

"It was a mistake! And we weren't snogging. It was one kiss! One!" Ron protested. "You'd've done the same if you met Cho out of the blue. Don't you remember what kissing her felt like?"

"Wet," said Harry, and Ron snorted. "In all the wrong ways. And I've got enough common sense not to go kissing an ex-girlfriend in public, whether my wife's out of town or not."

"It wasn't in public!"

"A shop window in Diagon Alley is pretty public by my reckoning, even if the shop was closed," Harry pointed out. "Anyone could have seen you, let alone Hermione. What if Lulu Skeeter had seen you? Gossip column of the Prophet – or even the front page. You're lucky it was just Hermione really."

"Lucky? You've got to be kidding!" Ron slurped the last of his beer and threw the bottle towards the bin in the corner, despite Harry's hand raised in warning. The bottle clattered against the bin and rolled across the wooden floor noisily, and there was a wail from upstairs. Both men froze, their eyes raised to the ceiling. Then Ron relaxed, and slumped back into his chair.

"Not Rosie," he said. "Sorry mate."

Harry glared at him. "I should make you go," he said. "Al's a menace when he wakes up, and it was your fault." Still he headed towards the stairs, leaving Ron alone with a fresh bottle of beer and his thoughts.

RHRHRHRHRH

"Aren't you ready, yet?" Hermione was getting impatient.

"I can't make this hang right," Ginny complained, pulling at the long green top that covered her – very expanded – waistline. "I look like a whale."

"You look fine," Fleur reassured her.

"For a whale," Ginny put in. "Why did I ever agree to this?"

"Because we need to cheer Hermione up," Angelina told her briskly. "Anyway, I'm no better. If you're a whale, I'm a dinosaur."

Ginny shook her head doubtfully. "You're tall. Being pregnant suits you. I just look like a blob."

Hermione had retreated to the corner of the room and was examining her hair critically in the dressing table mirror; she was also biting her lip. Fleur exchanged a worried look with Audrey, who was watching Hermione too. There was more going on here than either of them knew.

"Let's get going!" Audrey said, standing up from her seat on the bed. "We all look fabulous, and we're going to have a great night out. Come on, girls!" And she headed for the door without looking to see if they were following her or not.

RHRHRHRHRH

"So what exactly did Hermione say?" Harry asked. "Going out on the town isn't really her thing. She must have said something more than the nonsense about your women all over town." He had come downstairs, having finally pacified Albus, to find Ron finishing his second bottle of beer and eying a third. He had taken it away from him firmly, and made coffee.

Ron shook his head and leant back in his chair. "Oh, I dunno. I don't get her at all at the moment. One minute she's working all hours at the Ministry, then the next she's saying we don't see enough of each other. Then day before yesterday when we were going to bed, she bursts into tears when I told her I was going to Hogsmeade for the staff do on Tuesday, says I have all the fun, and storms off to sleep in the spare bed in Rosie's room. This morning she tells me, they're having a girls' night out, that I'd better look after my daughter for once – 'for once', I ask you! Don't I do my share with Rosie? And that perhaps she'll kiss a few men, since I seem to have women all over town. Then she sweeps off out to work before I can get a word in."

Harry couldn't help smirking at his brother-in-law's injured tone. "Don't try to understand women, mate," he advised. "You're onto a loser before you start. Is it the wrong time of the month, maybe?"

"Maybe… Oh shit!" A dawning light of realisation came into Ron's eyes and he set down his mug with a bang. "I'm an idiot," he groaned. "A total idiot."

"What?" Harry demanded. "More than usual, you mean?"

Ron nodded, and, surprisingly, reddened. "Yeah, well," he muttered. "You know it took – a while – before Rosie came along. Longer that we liked anyway. Well…" He sighed. "We're trying again, and it isn't happening. And if it is – that time of the month – well, it means another month when it hasn't happened." He ducked his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn, damn, damn. I'm an idiot."

Harry grimaced. "I don't see how going out with two pregnant women is going to help if that's the case," he said.

Ron sighed. "Nor me. Probably just make it worse. Oh damn. Damn, damn, damn."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say.

RHRHRHRHRH

The music was loud and the dance floor was hot and very crowded. Hermione closed her eyes and lifted her arms and danced and swayed and tried not to think.

"Concentrate on this. Live in the moment," she told herself. "This is enough for now. Really."

There were bodies pressed all around her, hot and sweaty and she knew she had had too much to drink. A face swam into view, dark-eyed, not bad looking, the mouth leering at her.

"Dance with me, darlin'? You look like a girl who knows how to have fun." He was grabbing at her already, an arm around her waist, the other hand reaching for hers. She was going to go with it -Merlin knew, she deserved some excitement now and again. But then a hand closed on her other wrist and a steely voice, tinged with a French accent spoke.

"Thank you, but my friend is ver' busy. And ver' married," and before she knew what was happening, Fleur had towed her over to a seat near the bar and placed a large glass of sparkling water in front of her.

"Drink," she ordered. Hermione shook her head.

"I'd rather have another cocktail," she said. She knew she was whining, but somehow she couldn't help herself. "I don't see why the boys should have all the fun."

Fleur's stern gaze softened. "Are you 'aving fun, Hermione?" she asked quietly. "Really?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Aware that her voice was slightly higher than usual and that there were tears gathering in her eyes, Hermione buried her face in her glass. Then, before Fleur could stop her, she set it down and returned to the dance floor.

Fleur watched her for a minute, and then walked over to where Audrey and Angelina were sitting. Ginny had already gone to join Hermione. The four of them had decided she should not be left alone if they could help it.

"We think we've worked it out," Angelina said without preamble. "It's babies."

"Babies?" Fleur asked with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Audrey said, pushing Fleur's glass across the table to her. "We have two, you have three. Angie here and Ginny are adding to their families any day now…"

"Have a heart!" Angelina cut in. "I'm not due till Christmas! That's ages away!"

Audrey waved away the interruption. "Soon anyway," she said airily. "And Ron and Hermione have only Rose. Last time Angie and Ginny had a baby, Hermione did too. This time there's no sign of one. And I know they waited longer than they wanted to for Rose."

Fleur frowned and took a sip of her wine. She nodded, a serious look on her face. "I think zat you are right," she conceded. "Poor Hermione. No wonder she is so sad and trying not to show it."

There was a disturbance behind them. Hermione was coming towards them, supporting Ginny, who was crying. A tall man in a bouncer's uniform, who looked distinctly flustered, was following them.

"What on earth 'as 'appened?" Fleur gasped, setting down her glass and going forward to Ginny's other side. "What is the matter?"

"My water broke!" Ginny wailed. "The baby's coming!"

RHRHRHRHRH

Ron stopped in the doorway, the breakfast tray held before him, and watched his wife sleep. Her face was flushed, there were mascara trails on her cheeks, and her hair was a wild tangle across the pillow. She looked beautiful. Ron thought ruefully that he was a very lucky man.

He crossed the room quietly, set down the tray on the bedside table and went to open the curtains. He sat down on the bed beside Hermione as she stirred and opened her eyes, wincing against the light.

"Oooh-er, grr, ugg, wassertime?" she asked groggily, blinking up at him.

"Just after eleven," he said, proffering a small vial of greyish liquid. "Swallow it quick, it tastes disgusting."

She did as he told her, choking slightly at the taste of the potion. "Charlie's hangover cure?" she asked faintly. "I never thought it would taste that bad."

He smiled mirthlessly. "Yeah, well you've never needed it before," he pointed out.

Realisation dawned abruptly, and she clutched at her husband's arm. "Ginny?" she asked. "The baby? Where are Rose and the boys?"

"Calm down, no need to panic," Ron said, moving a pillow behind her back and setting the tray across her knees. "No news from the hospital yet, but Ginny takes these things slow. She did with James and Albus too. And the kids are all fine – Bill and Fleur came earlier and took them off to The Burrow. The whole family's there by now."

"Except us," Hermione said quietly, sipping her tea. Despite the hangover cure, she somehow did not feel like eating anything. "Ron, I…" Her voice caught and she swallowed. He leant forward and kissed her, almost sending the tray flying.

"I know," he said. "No baby this month. I should've realised. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." She was crying now.

"Hey…" He set the tray to one side and took her in his arms. "We have each other, and we have Rose. That's enough for me. Anything more will be a bonus. And I love you."

Hermione settled into his arms, which were warm and strong and familiar. "I love you too," she whispered.

RHRHRHRHRH

Later – quite a lot later –they sat and ate breakfast in their sunny kitchen.

"You never told me about last night," Ron said, taking a bite of toast and marmalade. "Where did you go?"

Hermione smiled. "A Muggle nightclub," she said. "It was a bit eighties. All Bee Gees and disco and men in white suits with mullets."

Ron frowned. "The trouble with being married to you," he observed, "is that half the time I don't know if I don't understand because what you're talking about is Muggle or because you're just cleverer than me."

She smiled at him. "Bit of both this time I think," she said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah." He stood up slowly, stretching and reaching out a hand to her. "If you are. What was the name of this place, anyway? Just in case I need to find out what a Bee Gee or a mullet is?"

Hermione giggled as she took his hand prior to Apparating to The Burrow.

"Hugo's," she said. "It was called Hugo's. But I don't think you'd like it much."


	2. Just Another Duty

Just Another Duty

Ah, please don't talk about all of the plans

We had for fixin' this broken romance

I want to go where the people dance

Alicia Bridges – 'I Love The Nightlife'

Draco Malfoy checked his new dress robes one last time in the mirror before exiting the fourth-year boys' dormitory and heading to the common room to wait for his date. He still felt a twinge of regret that he was bringing Pansy to the Yule Ball, but his mother had insisted, and when Narcissa made up her mind about something there was no budging her. Of course, this particular decision had been inevitable, ever since Draco's childhood. The Parkinsons were old family friends, and supporters of the pure-blood cause, and these things were… arranged, for want of a better term. No running off with Mudbloods or blood-traitors for a Malfoy heir.

Not that there was anything wrong with Pansy. She might have had a couple of irritating traits, but she was good fun, and supportive of him, and she knew how to put Mudbloods and losers like Longbottom and Granger in their place. She had been his friends since childhood, like Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise, and she was probably the member of his childhood gang that he was closest to. You couldn't be close to Crabbe and Goyle, they were too moronic to hold a decent conversation with, and Blaise was a stuck-up pretty-boy who considered himself Draco's equal despite coming from new money. Yeah, Pansy was alright, but Draco simply wasn't interested in her as a girl.

Not that he had much say in it. His mother had taken him aside last summer and mentioned that Pansy would be considered a suitable partner, and when he had looked a little sulky later his father had summoned him to the study for a rare heart-to-heart.

"Sit down, son," he had said, gesturing at one of the leather chairs while pouring a large glass of Chardonnay for himself and a smaller one for Draco. "It's time we talked about your duties as my heir."

What had followed had been an eye-opener for the younger Malfoy, as his father told him about the things that were expected of a Malfoy heir. He would have to make a respectable marriage and produce children, and love – or even physical attraction – didn't really come into it. Of course, his father had pointed out with an uncharacteristic lack of reserve, one could always have a bit on the side. Or several bits.

None of which changed that, as far as his parents were concerned, Pansy was non-negotiable. For now, at least. Usually, Draco felt secure in the knowledge that his future was mapped out, a grand tableaux of wealth, power and prestige woven from the lives of his illustrious ancestors, but sometimes – like tonight – it weighed him down. He felt it was rather a pity that his parents couldn't have chosen one of the other eligible pure-blood girls of his age-group if they really had to arrange his future partner. The Greengrass sisters, for example, were really rather interesting girls, and quite pretty to boot. On the other hand, he wasn't terrible close to them and at least he knew he would get along fine with Pansy all night. Besides, it could be worse. He had heard a rumour that Weasley had asked the Veela trollop from Beauxbatons to accompany him and had been crushingly rejected, a move destined to upset both him and Granger, who almost certainly didn't have a date.

He was jerked out of his reverie by Pansy's arrival, and he was pleased to note that she looked every inch the high-born pure-blood lady. He took her arm and led her out into the corridors, Crabbe and Goyle – both dateless, poor sods – falling into place behind them.

The Great Hall was a flood of colour, noise and smell, assaulting Draco's senses. Suddenly feeling a little stiff in his dress robes, he walked past the top table, gently steering Pansy towards a seat. As he passed the Champions, he noticed Viktor Krum. His date looked quite pretty – of course she is, he reflected wryly, the man's a Quidditch star and a Triwizard Champion – and oddly familiar. Suddenly, realisation dawned. It was Granger. He was unsurprised to see her sucking up to a rich pure-blood who didn't know her reputation or Blood Status and therefore might let her marry into power, and made a mental note to have Viktor informed of her negative attributes as soon as possible.

He noticed that Pansy looked unabashedly and utterly shocked. Unlike him, she had never learned to keep her face studiedly blank and neutral when the situation required it. Expressing public disapproval of Viktor's date here and now would do no good, and would probably only succeed in getting his back up. But Pansy had never been very subtle.

As they took their seats, Pansy nudged Draco.

"Look at Potter," she muttered, grinning viciously.

Potter was sitting with the other champions, next to Parvati Patil, who looked really rather attractive in her dress robes. However, old Scarhead wasn't paying her much attention. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Chang and Diggory, and he was glowering.

"Clearly jealous," Draco smirked at his date, "that's something to remember for future use."

Pansy guffawed, an irritating braying sound that had always set his teeth on edge, and he sighed. He had been rather enjoying the moment, seeing his would-be rival finally not getting something he wanted handed to him on a silver platter as a reward for being the Boy-Who-Lived. Not to mention the fact that he had just noticed that Longbottom's date was the Weaselette, a sure recipe for amusing chaos if ever he had seen one. And then Pansy had spoiled it by reminding him that he was on a date with somebody he didn't find remotely attractive.

He sighed again and dug into his meal.

As the meal wore on, Draco found himself getting increasingly irritated with Pansy. It wasn't even that she was doing anything annoying, but that he felt resentful that he had been given no say in who he was bringing as his date to the first decent social event Hogwarts had hosted in decades. He realised that if he allowed his annoyance to show he ran the risk of letting the side down, and therefore decided to go for a quick solitary walk to clear his head once he had finished eating the admittedly delicious dinner. Having finally finished his dessert, he was about to excuse himself from the table when the Champions got up to begin the dancing. He could not miss the opening dance; that would be terribly bad form. So he offered Pansy his hand and led her onto the dancefloor, allowing his mind to wander as they swayed to the music.

After a couple of songs, he offered to fetch Pansy some punch, using this as an excuse to get a few minutes to himself. When he got to the punch bowl, Viktor was there, talking excitedly to a couple of fellow-Durmstrangers in rapid Bulgarian. Draco caught the word "Her-my-own-ninny" and smirked. What in Merlin's name must Granger the eternal pedant be making of a date who couldn't pronounce her name correctly? Chuckling quietly to himself, he filled two glasses and began to wend his way back to Pansy, making a detour into the courtyard outside to clear his head.

Getting out of the Great Hall did nothing to improve his mood, which became increasingly foul as he listened to the giggles and scuffling noises coming from within and behind various bushes. Even if he were interested in kissing Pansy, he highly doubted that tonight would end with her joining him in a rosebush for a private session. He scuffed the ground with his shoes, glowering at Davies and the Veela, who were making very little effort to conceal their displays of affection; in fact, the Ravenclaw Captain looked like he was seconds away from falling out of his bush onto the gravel path.

If he was honest with himself, Draco knew that he just wanted to be able to have the same kind of fun as his peers were tonight. No, not his peers, his classmates. That was part of the problem. He was a Malfoy, and that meant certain standards of public decorum had to be upheld. The Malfoys were true Slytherins, and no matter what they got up to in private they maintained a polite and respectable front. Draco knew that he had often been a disappointment to his father in this regard (hot-tempered, that was what his father's letter had called him after Professor Snape reported the duel with Potter outside Potions class earlier that year, and that an insult when applied to a Malfoy).

He squared his shoulders. Tonight he would do his father proud, and hopefully enjoy himself into the bargain. After all, he was at a rare social event with a very old friend. What more could any teenager ask for, apart from a top-of-the-range racing broom? He would forget about his parents' expectations, forget about the fact that Pansy might well be his future wife, and just go in and enjoy the music. He might not even end up marrying her in the long run, anyway.

After all, he was a Malfoy. And escaping unwanted burdens was a family tradition.


End file.
